Asylum City

by Liad Shoham

  Ever since his arrest, he’d been picturing the day of his release. He envisioned himself in front of a bevy of media people, denouncing the police, accusing them of persecuting an innocent man.

  But no one was waiting for him outside Abu Kabir except his parents. They drove all the way to his house in silence. “We’ll wait here in case you want to come home with us,” his father said when they arrived. Irritated, he snarled, “Don’t bother. Why should I go home with you? I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “We’ll wait fifteen minutes,” his mother said quietly. He climbed out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

  His career was over. Kobi informed him that the Bar Association had initiated an action for his disbarment. Although he’d been cleared of any involvement in Michal’s murder, the fact that he concealed the legal opinion wasn’t going away. Whatever happened, he could never go back to the State Attorney’s Office.

  Yariv’s eyes filled with tears. Where did he go wrong? What did he do to deserve this? He cursed the day he agreed to take on the cases against the illegals. If it weren’t for that one stupid decision, his life wouldn’t be crashing down around him.

  “Would you like to come in?” he heard behind him. It was his nosy neighbor, Sarah Glazer.

  “She moved out yesterday. She took everything with her.”

  Yariv didn’t respond.

  “Come inside. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  “Thank you,” he said, surprising himself.

  Chapter 96

  ITAI fidgeted in the backseat of the patrol car. Abetting in a police raid, even if only indirectly, made him very uncomfortable. On top of that, he was forced to watch Eylon from the Economic Crime Unit brazenly hitting on Anat.

  Anat had called him a few hours after he left the police station and asked him to show them the exact location of the restaurant on Fein Street. The higher-ups had decided to move in right away, even before they’d finished interrogating Boaz Yavin. They had the chance for a great photo op—real-time pictures of a crack team busting up an illegal operation—and they didn’t want to miss it. But they had to hurry, before the weekend papers were put to bed.

  They’d driven by the restaurant almost an hour ago, and then parked a few blocks away. “We’ll be able to listen in on what’s going on from a safe distance,” Anat explained.

  “Did you know she studied accounting with my brother,” Eylon said, twisting his head around and nodding toward Anat, who was sitting beside him in the front. “She was on the dean’s list four years running.”

  Anat smiled sheepishly.

  Turning back to Anat, he said, “You ought to leave Special Investigations and come over to us. You’d be a real star.”

  Over the radio they could hear the commanding officer issue his final instructions for the raid. Anat adjusted her position, moving closer to Eylon. Their shoulders were touching.

  “So what do you say, Anat? You and me? We’d make a great team. Just say the word and I’ll arrange for your transfer.”

  Why don’t I have his balls, Itai thought to himself. I wish I could talk to her like that.

  “Go!” the officer commanded, silencing Eylon.

  They heard the sound of running footsteps and heavy breathing. Itai’s thoughts turned to Michal. It was a sad irony that what she’d been trying to achieve in the last days of her life had been made possible by her death: Yariv Ninio could now wave good-bye to the State Attorney’s Office and the cops were putting the “Banker” out of business.

  Gabriel and Liddie were moving out tomorrow, even though Itai insisted they were welcome to stay. The young man made an effort to sound confident, but Itai could tell that he was nervous about striking out on his own. Instead of trying to change his mind, he decided to do what Michal had always wanted. He’d talk to his uncle at the art school and show him Gabriel’s drawings. It might not help, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. Sometimes you had to make things happen, not just sit back and wait for them to happen on their own. He’d learned that lesson from Michal, both by her life and by her death.

  “We’re in. Move to the back room,” the commander shouted.

  “The moment of truth,” Eylon said breathlessly.

  Michal was bringing down a crime syndicate. Who would have imagined it was possible? Definitely not me, Itai thought. I never believed in her enough.

  “Talk to me. What do you see?” they heard over the radio.

  “Nothing. The place has been emptied out. They must have known we were coming. I repeat, nothing here. The room is empty.”

  Chapter 97

  BOAZ Yavin jumped up in relief when Borochov appeared in the doorway. Itzik had given him clear instructions about what to do if the cops ever picked him up. He’d followed them to the letter. As soon as they said they were bringing him in for questioning, he demanded to speak to his lawyer, Shuki Borochov.

  Once they got to the station, they tried to persuade him to talk, saying it was in his best interest to cooperate and it would be a while before the lawyer could get there. But he kept silent. “Never forget, the cops are small change compared to us,” Itzik had warned him, and the words resounded in his head like alarm bells.

  Boaz thought of Irit and the kids. The cops didn’t even give him a chance to say good-bye, refusing to wait until Irit got back from her Pilates class. He had to ask their next-door neighbor, Maya, to watch the children until his wife got home. From the look on Maya’s face, he knew she’d be spending the next hour on the phone, spreading the news. He’d never be able to look his neighbors in the eye again.

  What did they want from him? The arms deal? The migrants? Who put them on to him?

  “Thank you for coming. I’m very grateful,” Boaz stammered. Borochov was Faro’s personal attorney, and Itzik said he could pull a rabbit out of a hat. Now he’d use his magic to make Boaz’s problems disappear. At least, that’s what he was hoping for.

  “Did you say anything?” Borochov fired at him as he took a seat. The expression on his face didn’t give anything away.

  “Not a word, I swear,” Boaz said, sitting back down.

  “Good. Keep it that way.” The lawyer’s tone was as stiff as his face.

  “Are my kids okay? Did you talk to my wife?” Boaz asked anxiously.

  “Pay attention, Yavin,” Borochov cut in. “You keep your mouth shut. Whatever they ask you, you say, ‘On the advice of counsel, I invoke my right to remain silent.’ Got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it. But do you know why I’m here? What do they have on me?” Borochov’s iciness was spooking him. Boaz was no fool. He knew he wasn’t the attorney’s real client. He’d tell him to do whatever was best for Faro.

  “I don’t know what they have and I don’t care. The only thing that matters is that you keep your mouth shut. Not a word about Faro, arms deals, the ‘General,’ or anything else.”

  Boaz’s throat was dry and his hands were shaking. They wanted to make a scapegoat out of him.

  “Don’t worry, I’d never do anything to harm Shimon,” he said in a trembling voice. “But you’ve got to understand. I could be in real trouble. . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “Take it easy,” Borochov said, smoothing his tie. “Let’s not blow things out of proportion. It’s not that bad. All they can accuse you of is some kind of white-collar crime. Worst-case scenario, you get five to seven inside. Best-case scenario, you pay a fine. It could be much worse, believe me.”

  Boaz stared at him in shocked silence. Seven years? How would he survive that long in prison?

  “Hey, kid, don’t look so scared. It’s not the end of the world,” Borochov said, patting him on the shoulder and smiling for the first time. “Seven years is the most you can get. With time off for good behavior, you’ll be out in four. What’s four years?”

  Boaz remained silent. Unlike Borochov, he failed to see the bright side.

  “Be a good boy and Faro will look out for you. Your family will be well taken care of. Faro can be very
generous.”

  Boaz still didn’t respond. They were sending him to his grave and they wanted him to be happy about it?

  “Are you listening, Yavin? Did you get what I said? It’s simple arithmetic. There’s nothing to think about. You keep your mouth shut and you’re compensated for your trouble. You talk and . . . well, I don’t have to tell you what happens then, do I?”

  Boaz shook his head. No, Borochov didn’t have to spell it out. The message was loud and clear. The only question left to answer was the amount of the compensation he’d be getting. He was going to demand a very high price for his silence.

  Chapter 98

  FARO put down the phone and breathed a sigh of relief. Borochov had assured him he didn’t have to worry about Boaz, he’d taken care of it. Without Yavin’s testimony, the cops had nothing.

  As soon as Faro got the word that the accountant had been picked up, he shut down the whole banking operation. If the cops came looking, they wouldn’t find anything. At most, a few Africans drinking coffee.

  The “General” had turned on him, but at least he’d given him time to regroup. He could have ratted on Faro, but he didn’t. He only handed them Yavin. Shimon appreciated the consideration. Although their relationship ended on a sour note, the “General” did him a little favor at the last minute. As a reward, his death would be quick. Shimon wouldn’t make him suffer.

  Yavin’s future was less certain. The man liked money, no question about it. But did he like it enough to be able to cope with prison life? Shimon had people inside who’d be keeping an eye on him. If he showed any sign of breaking or having second thoughts, they’d have no choice but to silence him for good.

  It was a shame he had to close the bank. He’d built up a thriving business and had been planning to expand it. But in the final analysis, he couldn’t complain. He’d be well compensated for his pain and suffering. The customers who’d emptied their accounts in time had gotten their money, less commission, of course. The rest weren’t so lucky. The bank was no longer offering its services to the public. If Yavin were available, he’d have him draw up a balance sheet. As a rough estimate, Faro thought the unclaimed funds totaled over twenty million. Not bad.

  Faro was curious to see how the government would deal with the wreckage he’d left behind. The migrants now had nowhere safe to keep their money, and a lot of them had lost everything. When the inevitable crime wave struck, the authorities would be very nostalgic for the days of Faro’s bank. But the idiots still didn’t get it. Without him, things were going to be a lot worse.

  Faro was through with the migrants. He’d find another outlet for his business acumen. He already had a few ideas.

  Chapter 99

  ANAT hurried down the stairs, hoping to leave the frenzy of work behind before they called her back. There was rioting around the old bus station, migrants attacking migrants, Israelis attacking migrants, migrants attacking Israelis, Israelis attacking Israelis. There were incidents of looting, and a few Molotov cocktails had been hurled at the African restaurants. They’d gotten the word that MK Ehud Regev was on his way, which would just add fuel to the fire. In situations like this, they’d need all hands on deck. Reinforcements would be called in from every division.

  Before that happened, Anat needed a break. She had to breathe fresh air. Eylon had called and told her that Boaz Yavin wasn’t talking. They were hoping he was the loose thread that would help them unravel a whole crime organization, but it turned out that there was a tight knot in that thread and they couldn’t undo it.

  They were still obliged to release Kabri. He’d kept his part of the bargain and given up the “Banker.” It wasn’t his fault if they couldn’t use Yavin to get to his boss.

  Anat got into her car. She’d been going nonstop for the past month. Economic Crimes would handle Yavin; that wasn’t her domain. An unfamiliar song was playing on the radio. It was four in the afternoon, still light out. Winter would be over soon. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d left work before dark.

  She glanced at the people strolling leisurely down Ibn Gvirol Street. The cafés were full. Sometimes it seemed like she was the only one in the city who had a job to go to.

  Anat felt deflated. What now? Her mother was right: she buried herself in her work. Here she was, with time on her hands, and she had no one to spend it with.

  She hesitated a moment and then grabbed her phone, pressing the number quickly before she got cold feet. Itai picked up on the second ring. The other day in the patrol car, she’d found it hard to resist the urge to take his hand. There was no point in denying it: she’d been attracted to him from the moment she first set eyes on him.

  “What’s up?” he asked. She could hear the wariness in his voice.

  “Nothing . . . I just,” she stammered. What was she thinking? To him she was a cop, nothing more. This was very unprofessional of her. “I just thought,” she said, taking a deep breath in an effort to slow her racing heart, “I thought now that it’s all over . . . you might like . . .”

  Silence.

  She was lousy at this.

  She heard raised voices on the other end. How could she be such a moron? In the middle of the riots—that’s when she decided to ask him out.

  “I’d be very happy to get together with you,” he said, breaking the awkward silence.

  Anat felt her face go red.

  “Actually,” he went on, “I was also thinking . . . I mean . . . you owe me a trip to Paris.” It was Itai’s turn to stammer.

  They set a time and place. Anat smiled to herself. If anything came of this, they’d have to find a better “how did you two meet” story than “we were at a funeral.”

  She looked at her reflection in the window of the car alongside her. She didn’t have anything to wear. Maybe she would use the free time she’d grabbed to look for a dress. It had been a very long time since she’d gone shopping for herself.

  Her phone started ringing and the beeper in her bag came to life.

  “Nachmias?” It was Amnon, the duty officer. “Male body at 25 Ben Yehudah Street. Possible homicide.”

  Anat glanced at her reflection again. Her hair was its usual frizzy self.

  “On my way,” she said.

  Acknowledgments

  ONE of the most enjoyable stages of writing a book is the research. It gives me a chance to delve into new realms and meet new people. In all my previous books, I had some knowledge of the subject before I began. But I knew nothing at all about the issues dealt with here. The journey I was led on, the people I met, and the things I learned had a strong impact on me, and they continue to resonate with me. I owe a sincere debt of gratitude to all those without whose help this book could not have been written.

  To my editor, Noa Menhaim, who was by my side every step of the way. A full partner in the process, she accompanied me on visits to the neighborhoods around the old bus station in south Tel Aviv, offered her support and excellent advice, and, most important, was brutally honest and never cut me any slack. Quite a few of the ideas in this book are hers, and I am pleased to say that because of her, quite a few of my own ideas will never see the light of day. Noa, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  To my mentor, Amnon Jackont. Although he did not edit this book, his advice and the things he taught me are with me wherever I go.

  To Michal Pinchuk, the director of ASSAF, Aid Organization for Refugees and Asylum Seekers in Israel, who was the first to introduce me to the subject. She provided me with fundamental concepts that were a huge help to me. The story Itai tells at the funeral is based on real events related by Orit Rubin of ASSAF at a conference organized by Physicians for Human Rights in collaboration with the Sheba Medical Center at Tel Hashomer and UNHCR, the UN Refugee Agency, in Israel.

  To Sharon Harel, assistant protection officer at UNHCR in Israel, who sat down with me several times to share her profound knowledge of the issue. Her valuable insights and balanced approach were a constant inspiration to me. Th
e tour she took me on, the things I saw there, and the asylum seekers I met are carved deeply in my memory.

  To Michal Zmiri, the social worker who runs the women’s shelter at the old bus station, whose description of herself as “doing God’s work” is a gross understatement. To Ilan Lonai, for the riveting tour of the area one rainy Friday afternoon, and the personal stories he shared with me.

  To Irit Gabber Shahar, who patiently answered my abundant questions and offered me insights from her experience as a UN worker. I am also grateful to her for taking the time to read an early draft of the book and for her valuable comments.

  To all those who are so near, and yet so far from us, who agreed to allow me a glimpse into their harsh lives and tell me their stories. I was astounded and aghast to hear about the ordeals they had been through. To my chagrin, I must admit that it was only after I started researching the subject that I began to notice their presence among us and actually see them in the street.

  To attorney Yadin Elam, who deals daily, and with inestimable dedication, with cases many lawyers are unwilling to touch. He is a credit to his profession. The manifesto he outlined for me (including citations of court decisions) clarified the relevant issues and was of great help to me when I sat down to write this book. By the end of our meeting I understood how Itai would behave and, no less important, exactly who Yariv was.

  To attorney Erez Melamed, for his legal advice and for referring me to sources of information that proved to be extremely useful.

  My research was greatly aided by members of the police force. I found them to be dedicated, professional, and astute. As a citizen of Israel, I am thankful that such people are on the force.